Alumni

I graduated today (May 6^th). I have been so stressed lately with work and moving that I was having a hard time being excited or relieved about finishing my degree. There is something in me that doesn’t let me do excited. I show more emotion about having time to watch a game or go to a movie than I do about something like graduating from college. I was very happy today, although you couldn’t tell from looking at me. I am not sure what that is. The lack of outward emotion about something I accomplished probably comes from my stunted self-esteem which makes it difficult for me to give any credit to myself. Whatever I have done there is always someone that has done something cooler and better than I. This constant stream of thought is a real problem, and I have discussed it here before.

My family was very excited for today. Seeing their excitement was helpful because I could be happy that they were happy, but I still couldn’t share it, so I decided to leave early for campus, park at our now former apartment and walk up through campus for the last time alone. I put my headphones in and walked the path I had so many times before and my emotions started to arrive.

I walked by the patch of grass where I finished reading The God of Small Things and remembered how I had to hold back the tears while standing in line to pay for my lunch directly after because the book was so beautiful and so sad.

I walked through OSH one last time where most of my classes were held. As I walked through the unevenly air conditioned halls the difficulty of this accomplishment finally hit me. So much frustration and happiness occurred in that ugly building. I thought about the lectures and subjects that went over my head, the fight to understand, and then the attempts to write intelligently about them.

I laughed while thinking about the emails to my professor concerning my first ever twenty page paper. The paper seemed to be going nowhere and my professor compared my writing process to the Nine Circles of Hell. The paper was on Sydney’s Defense of Poesy and Astrophil and Stella. The grade for that class relied solely on that paper and I got an A. After that paper I finally began to feel that my education was coming together and that I actually sort of knew what I was doing.

I walked up the stairs and by the little store where I would stop and get breakfast every morning before my African American Lit class. I would usually end up in line next to my professor, and standing in line with him became a sort of pre-class ritual.

I walked by were I studied The Simpsons and then by the classroom where I wrote another twenty pages about Lord Byron’s Don Juan using Simpsons’ satire.

It finally hit me. I felt good about myself. I missed my college years and this stupid building that couldn’t decide if it wanted to sweat us out or freeze us numb and would spit steam at you if you dared mess with the thermostat. That’s not to say that I wanted to jump into another degree, because I didn’t, and don’t. I think it is healthy to be able to miss something without having the desire to go back, which is not always the case with me, and I enjoyed the feeling.

Johnny X's May

This is going to be lame. I only have a few minutes.

I am back in school, but don’t really feel like talking about it. I can sum it up with two words: Broken Air-Conditioning.

You know what bothers me? The phrase “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Like when you tell people something about yourself and they say, “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that.” I hate when people say this to me. I KNOW there is nothing wrong with it, that is why I am that way, or am doing whatever it is I am telling you about. When you say there is nothing wrong with it, you are implying that I need to be reassured that there is nothing wrong with it because there are plenty of people out there who think that there is something wrong with it, and really, most likely, you do think that there is something wrong with it, but are showing that you are an accepting person and don’t judge, so even though there is something wrong with it, you are still okay with it, but when you say that, you are doing the opposite, it seems to me. *Breath* Anyway, it’s annoying.

It it it.

Retro-quote: After the war, I was dateless again. That Viet Cong girl dumped me.
– Mr. Belding, Saved by the Bell

I thought this was pretty interesting. Gas Saving Prius? vs. BMW M3. Not what you drive necessarily, but how you drive.

Brain Dead

It has been a while. I have been trying to finish up the semester by writing two papers that were kicking my butt. I turned them in on Friday and then was out of town over the weekend.

I don’t really have an April summary other than: Waiting for Godot, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Pedro Páramo, The God of Small Things. Those were the books I was writing my papers on. If you want to read a great contemporary novel, read The God of Small Things, by Arundahti Roy. I think it is amazing. It was the last book we read in my global lit class. It was our reward for getting through the semester. I am no good at doing reviews, so, if you can, just trust me. I think Reena Jana from Salon.com said it best when she said Arundahti Roy is “butt-kicking good.” If you are into literature, read it. If you are the kind of person who doesn’t take suggestions just because they aren't your suggestions, then, if we see each other or you post a comment here, you don’t have to admit to hearing about it through me. You can lie and rub it in my face and say you were way ahead of me, and that you read it ten years ago if you want. I don’t care. Just read it.

I can’t think of anything else to say. School starts again a week from today. I think my brain really is taking this week off.

In Case You Were Interested 2

I have had a lot to say lately, I just haven't had the time to say it. Going back and writing all the stuff that I previously had to say is very daunting, so you will just have to settle for new stuff.

I have been hyper-observant all day. That may not be the correct term because it is not like I have been noticing tons of things that I wouldn't notice when I wasn't being hyper-whatever-the correct-term-would-be-if-observant-isn't-the-correct-word; it's more like the things noticed have meaning, or more meaning depending on what they were.

It didn't start when I saw the girl microwaving bacon this morning. It didn't start there, but I think that is what primed me for it. I went into the break room to fill my mug up with hot water and saw one of my co-workers microwaving bacon on what I think was a single layer of paper towel. The grease was exploding and causing an obnoxious ruckus. She opened the microwave and muttered something. This something, I believe, was supposed to communicate to me that she was confused as to why everything was so loud (her thinking I didn't know what she was cooking), but really conveyed to me that she was embarrassed that I had walked in on her boisterous disgusting act and was feigning confusion as an excuse to stop the microwave and wait until I had left to continue permanently ruining the microwave (I had pizza rolls today cooked in that microwave—no bueno). She didn't have a plate; she took the greasy crap to her desk to eat in paper towels (where she found the paper towels I have no idea; they somehow elude me), and I can only imagine what her desk looked like when she picked them up to throw away. You know when Willow hit the troll with the wand and it starts to turn into the two headed dragon? Of course you do, but in case you need to be reminded here it is. Her mass of nuked pig looked kind of like that. I told whomever was online what I had witnessed, and my mind was prepped for noticing other things throughout the day.

Before we move on can we take a look at this clip from Willow? It is so freaking awesome.

How awesome is:
The music, especially during "Can you ride? Let's ride!" part?
The catapult part?
Madmartigan and his troll kick?

I love:
Madmartigan's face when he turns around and sees the dragon for the first time.
How everything the skull faced guy says throughout the entire move is shouted. "Destroy the Beast! Find the Baby!"
When Madmartigan realizes he is standing with the bad guys

Why:
Does the dragon's head explode?
Do trolls sound like steam whistles?
Is there a talking goat? What!? You need to watch Willow! Now! You think I'm joking?!

Great Lines:

"Go in the direction the bird is flying!"
"He's going back to village!"
"Ignore the bird. Follow the river."

Madmartigan: "I love you, Sorsha?" I don't love her. She kicked me in the face.

Favorite line when I was little:

"We stole the baby from you, Daikini, while you were taking a pee-pee!"

Moving on: It started when I realized I didn't have a pen for class. Me. Not having a pen. I have no excuses. I don't know what happened. I am a wonder when it comes to writing instruments. It is not uncommon for me to lose a pen a day for seven days in a row, and have been known to lose upwards of three in an 8 hour period. Where they go and what they have going with the paper towels is a bloody mystery. I usually just buy a couple large packs of Bics and pour them into my backpack. Unfortunately, my backpack, along with my spare pens, had been stolen (part of the old stuff) and so I had no pen stash to fall back on.

I eyed the floor as I walked to class hoping to capitalize on someone's loss. Unfortunately again for me, nobody had lost and I walked into class naked. . .no, the reason I did not have a pen was not because I wasn't wearing pants. I had pants on, I mean I felt naked because I always have a pen in the left pocket of my current waistwear. So, I walked into class feeling as though I was naked still searching the aisles of the stadium seating. I took my usual seat, third row, left aisle, and looked at the floor around me—no pen, but I did find a torn piece of blue paper, a AA battery and a Junior Mint. That is when I started thinking of story ideas about finding things you aren't looking for and thought of a line and went to write it down in my notebook I keep in my left rear pocket and reached for a pen. . .Seriously? Did I just look in my pocket for a pen. Yes, I did. I sat back hoping I would remember the line (which I have forgot) reached in my bag and pulled out Carver and began to read the story "What do you do in San Franciso?" After I read the line "That was Saturday, as I said, the day before Memorial Day," I realized I must pee.

I stood up and left while taking advantage of my trip to the men's room scouring the floor for pens. With the rush of writing ideas, and with the few pages I read of Carver, my mind was attaching stories to almost everything I saw. A seated woman dropped a paper right in front me and I picked it up and handed it to her in stride and wondered what I would have done if she had dropped a pen, and then thought about saying, "Hey, since I did you this favor you should lend me a pen."

I walked into the bathroom and saw a kid spiking his very long black hair straight up, and as I settled into my chosen urinal I noticed the kid next to me was texting with his left hand. Couldn't wait 20 seconds, huh? Have to text mid-stream? What if he dropped it in the urinal? That would be awesome, that's what.

As I walked back I coveted a pen that someone had laid down while he was reading. Could I get it? I walked by two offices hoping to notice someone away from their desk. No luck. In the second office, Student Government, I saw a pen cup FULL of sprouting eager pens. Look at them in there with their orgy of pens and happy-go-lucky attitudes. I thought I could just go in there and start writing in my book vigorously and then pretend to put the pen back and walk out with it; a plan that was sure to work except I kept walking while thinking about it and ended up back in third row, left aisle penless.

I lucked out, though. The only thing during class that came close to really needing to be written down was a thought that I should title a previously written story "Aubade x4," but then decided that it was astonishingly awful and decided against it. Of course, what needed to be forgotten is now recollected.

No Title

I will finally be a student again. After a semester off I got registered up at the U yesterday. Nice. So I will be working full-time and will be a full-time student. I have never done the double full-time thing and am kind of nervous, but pretty excited about my classes for the most part. I am taking a fiction workshop, 19th century American literature history class, history of photography, and analysis of argument. Should be rockin.

I will be glad to be back in school again because being a twenty-five year old single Mormon guy is a pretty bland period of life. I find myself just wishing that I had something lighthearted to talk about. A funny experience or idea. Something. Some color in my life. But as it is now, pretty much all I do is sit at my desk at work, which is entirely gray. A lot of the girls I meet are either married or fresh out of high school making it a workout just being in the same room as them. I’m sure they’re nice, but I’m just out of the period of life where I could stand a car full of girls cranking Fergie, bouncing in their seats and screeching the lyrics while I get whipped in the eyes by hair and asked why I am not doing the same.

If I do meet a nice girl I would like to take out, and would like go out with me, I don’t do it because I feel guilty about it, because I have so much stuff I need to deal with first that if something good did end up happening I would feel bad for her because she had no idea what she signed up for (kind of like you do now if you made it this far in this post). This (yes, the third ‘this’ in six words and the second set of paranthesis in one. I’m okay with it) is where “they” or “you” or “whoever” says, “Well then, go take care of it.” And then I say, “Yeah, but. . .” But what? But it’s going to suck, that’s what, and I am tired. I need to try though, so I can stop writing posts like this one and move on to more interesting subjects.

How about I do a Top 5 Tunes on Tunes? That could be fun. Okay, done. Plus, it will get me listening to something a little more upbeat.

I'm Done

I finished school at 5:19 this morning. I'm done for the summer. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done.

ShuuuUUT UP!

So I am at the library working on my final papers. There is a guy sitting right behind me reading the paper, and about every 30 seconds he goes, "Hmm," or "That's interesting." I thought he was on the phone, but no, he is just reading the paper all by himself. He is not exactly using his inside voice either. Does he want me to turn around and ask him what he is reading because he seems to be enjoying it so much? I want to set that paper on fire.

Hannibal

Hannibal is a guy in my Creative Writing class. I forgot what his real name is. Everyone calls him Hannibal.
Today as we were waiting for class to start he picked up a copy of USA Today and mentioned how he forgot that the five year anniversary of 9/11 was coming up.
"The more I think about it the more I think that it was planned, " he said," I mean, think about it. 9/11. Who are they going to call? 9-1-1."
Holy @^#%! Did you come up with that all by yourself? It is funny how nobody thought or mentioned that the day it happened. You should call and let somebody know!

Then during class he taps me on the shoulder and asks what the assignment was the teacher just gave about .2349856204674 seconds ago. I told him it was to read the first section out of the book we are reading.

"The first chapter?"
"The first section," I correct him.

He gives me a look that tells me I am being stupid and repeats, "First Chapter," as he writes it down. I was about to say, "No, numb nuts. The first section. The first section is seventy-seven pages. The first chapter is only like ten," but I stopped. I figure letting him read the first chapter instead of section will be a more valuable lesson.

Schoolio

Who knew keeping a blog up to date would be so hard. I forget I have one sometimes.

I have recently moved away for school. For the most part it is pretty much what I expected; except for a few things. I am really really busy. More than I thought I would be. I also didn't know how much I would enjoy studying what I am. Especially my creative writing class.

I think I really enjoy it for a few reasons. We write. I like that. The teacher is really good and seems intent on teaching us things as opposed to telling us how much he knows. And on the other end; the class isn't full of people who want so badly to be recognized as academia-ites that they won't shutup and won't stop trying to disagree with what anyone has to say. Probably because we have to write and read it in class and most everyone feels a little uncomfortable with that for now. So that is really refreshing.

It also makes me wonder if people doing other things feel the same way I do. I can see just about anyone in the arts feeling this way. Or like someone who is studying to be an architecht. I could see them really enjoying class. But, for example, does a math major really get excited to go to class and learn some new theorum? Maybe. You can do cool things with math. Does a business major just love studying what the benefits of outsourcing are? I don't know. I suppose they might.

I am just happy I found something I feel that way about.